


and i run from wolves - Hanzo POV

by shepardly



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vampire!Hanzo, Van Helsing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: Hanzo's point of view during 'and i run from wolves' by blue--phantom (twilightscribe). Hanzo is on the hunt when things go terribly wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue--phantom (twilightscribe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [and i run from wolves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973109) by [blue--phantom (twilightscribe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom). 



> I've been slightly obsessed with blue--phantom's i'll be the blood (if you'll be the bone) series and was suddenly struck by inspiration to write one of the works from Hanzo's point of view. Definitely go check out the series here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/606952
> 
> And thank you, blue--phantom, for letting me play in your sandbox!

Hanzo eyed the muddied street lit with oil lamps. It had obviously rained earlier that evening, enough that horses, oxen, wagons, and carts had churned the road to mud, but a few locals made their way along planks that had been laid along the sides of the road to help stay above the ankle-deep and sometimes worse muck. Still, the scene was a relatively peaceful one; residents in these small towns learned to take all sorts of conditions in a stride. Nebel was no different. Hanzo slid off his horse and loosened the cinch before checking the blanket. 

“Almost there,” he murmured the promise for her ears only, patting her neck while feeding her a handful of oats from his pocket. “A few hours more before we're home.”

She gently nickered at him but stood placid as he stood there pondering what he had just said. Home. It had been a long while since he had called a building home, and he couldn't quite pinpoint when home had become a person. He eventually shook himself from his revery and stepped up on the narrow porch leading into the saloon. He stopped at the door, making sure his hat was pulled low, before pushing the door open when he didn't scent anything out of the ordinary.

The saloon was fairly quiet, which was a bit of a surprise. It was after dark already, suppertime come and gone, and apparently with it being a weeknight most of the locals were not interested in staying out late. Two middle aged men sat at one table, one studying his glass like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen while the other snored with his head on the table. A young woman was sweeping the floor, while another elderly woman sat at a back table knitting. The needles stopped clacking when she saw Hanzo, but she quickly recovered and resumed when his gaze fell on her. The bartender glanced up from the counter where he was putting glasses away. 

“What can I do for you today?” The bartender called, finishing his duties as Hanzo approached the bar.

“I'm looking for provisions, for myself and my partner as well as two horses.” Hanzo remained standing, hands on the bar top. It felt good to stand after riding for so long, but he had to keep moving if he didn't want his flimsy disguise to make him look suspicious.

“Well I'm afraid I can't help you with the horses, but I have just the thing for hungry fellows.” The bartender was clearly pleased with the business. “There's a stable just down the street on the east side, they'll be able to set you up. If you want to go check in with them, I can have your supplies ready by the time you get back. How much you needing?”

“Three days for both of us will do, thank you.” Hanzo laid out some cash on the bar. “I will pay the rest when I return shortly.”

The bartender expertly swiped the money into his hand and flashed a wide smile. “See you soon.”

The elderly lady sitting in the back was already on his feet as Hanzo left, limping quickly towards the barkeep as she hissed something under her breath. Hanzo couldn't quite make it out, but brushed it off. Probably just the barkeeps elderly mother, fading mind paranoid of all unknowns.

The stable wasn't far, just like the bartender had said. A boy stood at the door, trying to calm a rather large and feisty stallion, who spooked when Hanzo’s scent made it to him. The large horse knocked the boy down as he reared, front hooves dangling dangerously above him, and Hanzo saw the boy’s eyes widen in terror.

Without thinking, Hanzo lunged forward, diving under the hooves and grabbing the boy to roll out of the way as the horse came crashing down, dancing nervously as two stable hands rushed out to help. 

“Are you alright?” Hanzo asked the boy, who stared at him with wide eyes. He tried to think back, trying to remember how fast he had moved. It hadn't been inhumanly so, had it? Could he get away with citing adrenaline?

“Y-yeah, I'm okay!” The boy was shaking but unharmed. “Thanks, mister! I thought I was a goner.”

Hanzo got to his feet and pulled the boy to his own, clapping him on the back before dusting himself off. 

“I'm Sammy.” The boy introduced himself, excitedly grabbing Hanzo’s hand to give it a shake. “I'll take you to meet my pa, he owns this place.”

They followed the still nervous stallion and stable hands in and continued on to the back where a small office was set up in the corner. He tried not to look at the stable hands, who were whispering to each other. He had planned on making inquiries and checking around town for any leads on his and McCree’s investigation, but it was clearly not the time to linger here any longer. He would soon be gone and they would forget the events in time. 

Hanzo soon had a bag of grain and even a bundle of hay for a severely discounted price from the grateful stable owner. He slipped off a plank and into the mud once as he returned to the saloon, and was forced to use the metal scraper placed near the door to scrape the worst of the mud off his boots before entering.

There were new people at the saloon now, a table of five men playing cards. The two drunks were gone, the girl still swept, and the old woman knitted, but her pretense of not staring was gone. He noticed one of the new men quickly glance at him, but the others stoically stared at their cards. Someone cleared their throat, and another threw a card in the centre. The movement revealed a revolver on the man’s hip, and he realized they were all armed. 

Hanzo smelled fear.

Instinct told him to bolt, that they knew. But how could they know? He tentatively touched the brim of his hat; still in place, hiding any gleam in his eyes. There was no way they could know for certain.

Hanzo walked up to the bar, urging his feet to move slowly and calmly. The barkeep was waiting for him.

“Just in time! Got all your supplies ready and waiting.” The man was overly cheerful. “How about a hot meal? You looking for a room too?”

“I must continue on yet tonight, I am late as it is.” Hanzo shook his head, reaching for his wallet. He was actually ahead of schedule at this point, having been forced to drop his investigation early, but there was no need to share that information. “How much do I owe you for the provisions?”

“It really ain't safe to travel after dark in these parts.” The barkeep wheedled. “What with vampires and all.”

Hanzo looked up from his wallet and at the man sharply, just as he felt cold steel slide across his throat. He spun around, knife already in hand, to see the girl that had been sweeping stagger back as the five men charged him, bloody knife in her hand and a horrified expression on her face.

Something warm spilled down his chest, and Hanzo instinctively clasped a hand over the fluttering edges of the wound across his neck. She had nicked an artery, but he could feel the damage starting to heal already. It was still enough to stun him, however. Before he could act, the five men were on him, pinning his arms while one of them knocked his hat off before prying his lips back, baring his fangs. His arm was slammed against the bar and his knife clattered to the floor. 

“A vamp, alright.” The man spat, smacking Hanzo’s hand away from his throat and allowing another cascade of blood to drench his front. “I can just bet what kinda ‘partner’ he has too.”

They stripped off his jacket and even his boots, leaving him in just his pants and thin shirt. Hanzo wrenched his right arm free and grabbed one of the men by the hair, smacking him facedown on the bar, but before he could do anymore his chest lit up in blinding agony.

The men hauled him away from the bar, ignoring his weak struggles, and shoved him into a chair while the elderly woman strode up to him.

“Are there more of your kind here?” She demanded. “And don't bother lying, I can tell.”

Hanzo gasped for air, struggling to look down at himself. A stake stuck grotesquely out of his chest, alarmingly close to his heart, but definitely embedded in a lung. His white shirt was stained crimson part ways down the front and it was still spreading. 

“Answer me!” The old woman grabbed him by the chin, stronger than she looked. Hanzo recognized the necklace around her neck now. Human witch, of the bland and boring variety, but with annoying abilities such as recognizing a vampire on sight.

“Yes, there's more.” Hanzo choked out. “Awaiting my signal. In the forest. Let me go and-”

“You're lying.” She slapped his face, hard. “What about thralls? Is that who you're meeting up with?”

Hanzo’s lip edged up with disgust at the idea of a thrall. His mind flitted to his partner, his _mate_. 

“If you can see the truth, you know that I mean you no harm.” Hanzo managed to get out, holding her gaze. She studied him with a grimace for a moment before responding.

“That may be so, but your kind has brought us nothing but trouble over the years.”

“Yeah, only good bloodsucker is a dead bloodsucker.” One of the men jeered. Hanzo winced at the term.

“Now answer my question.” The witch ordered. “Is there a thrall waiting for you?”

“Yes.” Hanzo desperately tried. “He will bring others to come looking for me.”

“He's still lying.” The old woman smacked him again before standing up straight. “I reckon he's traveling alone. Most prefer to stay with their covens but it's not unusual to find lone wolves out on their own.”

“We’ll hang him up in the graveyard for sunrise.” The man that had checked him for fangs decided. “Someone will stand watch in case someone does show up.”

Hanzo struggled as they bound his wrists and dragged him out of the saloon and into the mud, but he was all but helpless. The cold ground bit at his bare feet as they shoved him along the planks down the street. He had no desire to harm humans, but knew that if he didn't do anything soon, he was going to die here.

They passed by the stable, and Hanzo caught sight of the owner and his son before the door was abruptly shut and barred.

“But he helped me!” Hanzo’s enhanced hearing was able to pick up Sammy’s wail behind the door. “He's different!”

He had accepted long ago that he would likely die in battle. He didn't like the idea of dying at the hands of humans, but it had been in the realm of possibilities. What he could not accept was that if he died here, Jesse McCree died along with him, wherever he may be.

That could _not_ happen.

The graveyard by a church came into view, along with the rough wooden cross standing in the middle. Hanzo fought viciously despite his injuries and blood loss, and nearly managed to break free before the butt of a revolver cracked against his forehead and everything crashed into darkness.

***

Hanzo awoke with a scream stuck in his throat. Agony lanced through his right hand, and his eyes flew open to a new horror. The men had him propped up with arms spread out on each side of him, torches flickering in the dark, and he could feel rough wood at his back.

The cross.

Hanzo jerked his head to look right, just in time to see a hammer swing once more into the nail that pinned his hand to the wood. The stake in his lung made it impossible to properly scream, but a strangled cry still painfully forced its way out of him. The second nail in his left hand wasn't any better, and the pain when they let his arms take his weight was unbearable. They had tied his arms to the crossbeam to hold him up while they hammered, but there was still far too much weight on the nails. He was shaking uncontrollably as they pushed his feet into position, trying to brace himself for it, but there was no way to prepare for the agony as the nail was hammered through. His lungs burned as the scream tore from him. 

The men stepped back to check their handiwork as Hanzo hung helpless and trembling, trying not to throw up and wishing he could pass out.

“If there was any doubt before, I'd say we have a proof now.” One of the men drawled.

“Good work, fellas.” The man that appeared to be the ringleader said. “You go on and get some shut eye while I keep watch. I doubt we'll be seeing anyone come for him before sunrise.”

Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut, breathing as heavily as possible with a stake in his lung, trying to stay above the pain. The others left, and the ringleader made his way into the church after lighting the lamps outside the door, presumably to watch through a window from where it was warm.

More blood slipped down his chest. Hanzo’s breath began to gurgle and he coughed up blood. At this rate, it would be a small miracle if he survived until sunrise, not that the sun would have any effect on him. Many humans still believed that vampires could not survive in daylight, but it was merely a comfort as well as a myth.

Hanzo's chin dipped to his chest as warm brown eyes came to his mind. It was selfish, he knew, but he wished that McCree were here.

Blood loss had his head spinning, and he was so cold. His muscles were still trembling, both from cold and trauma. He was reasonably sure he had broken bones in his feet and hands where the nails had been pounded in, and most of his weight resting on them was agony. 

_Jesse… Please._

Hanzo finally, blessedly, passed out. 

***

Hanzo drifted into consciousness, feeling disconnected from his body and the pain. He was grateful for the reprieve, but couldn't understand what awoke him. It took a moment before he caught a familiar scent.

“Je- sse?” Hanzo breathed. His eyes were open but his vision was dim and hazy, and he could only make out the blurred outline of the man.

Wait. There's something he needs to tell him. Something important. What was it?

“Shhh, it's gonna be alright, sweetheart.” Jesse's familiar voice is a comfort, even if it wavers a bit. “I'm here now.”

Hanzo remembers. There's a guard in the church. He'll alert the others. They'll kill Jesse.

“D...don't…” Hanzo choked as his voice failed him. He's exhausted. What had he been saying?

“It’s going to be alright. I’m going to get you out of this.” Jesse said, sounding determined. He went quiet for a few seconds as his eyes flitted over the damage, assessing what needed to be done first. “I’m gonna pull out the stake first, alright love? Then the nails. It’s going to be fine; I’ll get you out of this. You’re going to be fine.”

Hanzo wanted to acknowledge him, but his strength was gone. He felt disconnected, floating away from his traitorous body.

Jesse grabbed the stake and carefully pulled it out. A strangled moan clawed it's way out of Hanzo’s ravaged throat. His traitorous body suddenly does not feel disconnected _enough_. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Jesse says. “Please just hold on a little longer, love. Once we’re in the forest, you can feed. I promise. Anything you need.”

Hanzo can't speak, can barely breathe. He vaguely felt a warm hand against his sternum, and the answering leap his heart decides to make. He can feel Jesse's relief, but everything is hazy and fading.

The nail in his feet is next to go, then Jesse is stretching to reach the nails in his hands. It takes longer, but soon Hanzo is hanging by the ropes on his arms before those are cut too, tumbling him into his mate’s arms. Jesse stumbled, gripping him tightly, and the last thing Hanzo remembered was brown eyes full of worry and a racing heartbeat. 

It was hardly a time to feel safe, he knew, but he didn't care; he was home.

***


End file.
